One for the Road
by vitko
Summary: [Dreamcatcher] .. An AU Pete/Beaver ficlet. Pete waits up for Beaver to return home from a date with his sister. Features 18-year-old Beaver and 17-year-old Pete.


[Pete and Beaver belong to Stephen King, and original canon characters from _Dreamcatcher_, the book. Original characters have been added for filler. This is all AU. What if Beaver and Pete hadn't have been killed that year at Hole in the Wall? What if they married and tried to get on with their lives? Warning: this is slash. Pete/Beaver slash, in fact. If homosexual ideas offend you, **do not read this**.] 

[Beaver parts written by Vitko. Pete is written by Vitko's partner in crime, who shall remain anonymous at this time.]

It's been about the sixth or seventh time he's taken Dovie out, and she's just as sweet as she was their first time together. Beaver still thinks it's a little weird, dating Pete's younger sister, and he doesn't say much about it. Sometimes, Beaver thinks he can feel the animosity seeping off of Pete's skin like sweat, but when he turns around, Pete's all smiles and piercing eyes. Big Brother Stance. Beaver admires that. 

It's a little past ten, and Beaver walks Dovie to the door of their house. They'd just been to see some stupid movie featuring Jeff Goldblum and Cyndi Lauper, and Beaver's more than fucking relieved that Dovie's not making him talk about it. In fact, she doesn't say much, but he sure does like the way she clutches on to his hand and leans up close to him. He even likes to turn his face in, catching the smell of her (Pete's...) shampoo. 

He's a gentleman and he walks her to the door. She's got his leather coat draped across her shoulders, and she's prettier than a rose, he thinks, sweet sixteen and looking at him like that. He kisses her softly, his fingers grazing the side of her face as she places a hand on the doorknob. She smiles and pulls away, saying he should call her soon. It's hard to say no to someone with eyes like that.

When Dovie opens the door, Pete's standing only a few steps behind it. He'd seen them coming up the driveway from where he'd been sitting on the rooftop of his house. He did that sometimes, when he felt like he needed some kind of escape. Out his bedroom window, and lying flat on his back gazing up at the stars. However, he'd slipped back in just as quickly and quietly when he'd heard Dovie and Beaver coming home, down the steps to greet them.

It was funny how things never ended up the way you planned them, because Pete had planned to play it off coolly, greet his sister at the door, wave goodbye to one of his best friends. But somehow that plan changed from the top of the stairs to the bottom, and by the time Pete's at the last step, he's all kinds of furious, that makes his cheeks burn and his teeth grit and his fingers clench.

"You're past curfew, you know," Pete says sharply and it gets a startled jump from his sister who just looks at him wide-eyed before checking the clock on the wall. It's five minutes. Five minutes which is really nothing, but right now it bothers Pete. Because that's a whole five minutes of whatever they were doing. "Mom and dad are really angry. You'd better go talk to them," he says, and they aren't. They're already in bed, but Dovie doesn't know this, and since she's pretty trusting, she believes him and runs upstairs after waving to Beaver.

And when she's gone, Pete even manages half a smile at the Beav when he asks, "So what've you two been up to?"

Beaver glances at Pete and shrugs, slipping a hand into his pocket as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes lighting one there on the front steps. He doesn't stay there, though, always says it's rude to smoke on someone's front porch. _What if it creeps in through the fuckin windows?_ he'd always asked Pete, who never really seemed to care when his parents weren't home. But he knew Pete wouldn't dare light up, not with Dovie and his parents just upstairs. 

"Just went to a movie, man." He exhales a thin line of smoke, walking out onto the sidewalk. "You didn't have to be such a fuckin ass to your sister, man. She wasn't late and you know she always believes her when you tell her shit like that." He's frowning a little as he turns around to look at Pete. He knows he probably shouldn't try and push this particular subject with him, but fuck, Dovie and him have been out a few times already. Why the fuck is Pete getting so upset? He hasn't even felt her up, not even her tits. Hell, he ain't gonna tell Pete that... but he hasn't.

Pete steps outside, letting the door close behind them, and he watches Beaver light up as he sits himself down on the steps of his house. Pete sighs. What he wouldn't give for a cigarette at the moment? After all, his hands are itching to be doing something and a cigarette would help, but instead Pete sits on them. Something in Beaver's tone has struck that note of guilt that he'd buried away from his conscience, but it's ringing loud and clear now. 

"A movie, huh?" Pete says, but he doesn't look up at Beaver. Guilt or no guilt, he still knows damn well what goes on dates at movies. He's done it once or twice. The lights go down and fuck the show and the popcorn and the candy. It's all about making out and copping a feel, and shit, Pete doesn't want to think about things like that when it comes to his sister. It still makes him angry enough to not apologize for sniping at his sister even though he knows he ought to. 

"Yeah, Beav? So what was the movie about? I'm sure you were paying a whole lot of attention to it," Pete says, and already he knows he's being unfair, but anger doesn't really take account of those things. It just charges forth blindly. Pete's furious enough now that he shoves himself off the steps, hits the support beam of his porch, and swings around to face the house. "Jesus, Beaver, of all the fucking girls in this fucking town, why'd you have to go and pick my fucking sister." 

The cigarette Beaver had been smoking just a moment before almost drops out of his hand, and he quickly fumbles to catch it, burning the insides of his hands with the cherry. After righting it and hissing a few curses, Beaver stands there, looking at Pete. His face is unable to hide the rush of disbelief -- hitting him like a fucking brick. _And what the shit is this?!_ Pete accusing him of... 

"Jesus Christ, Pete, what the _fuck _is wrong with you?!" He doesn't take a step forward, even if he does want to. He doesn't trust the way Pete's flailing his arms about like a fucking windmill. He's liable to land one of those punches right smack in his jaw, and the Beav sure as hell doesn't want to have to explain to his old man why his best friend stole him right in the kisser. 

"For your information, Pete, I'm not tryin to get in your sister's fuckin pants. I like her and she fuckin likes me. Whether you want to fuckin believe that's possible, I don't know. But she's nice to me and I ain't tried anything unbecomin of her, not a single fuckin time, man. Jesus Christ." He pulls a long drag from his cigarette, now so upset, his nostrils are flaring. His glasses have lipped down his nose and he quickly reaches a hand up to shove them back into place.

Pete, however, sees not of this. He's still turned towards the house, but he's calmed himself down enough that his hands are hanging loosely at his sides. If he were willing to go there, to dig down deep enough inside of him, maybe he'd actually know why Beaver's relationship with his sister was bothering him so much. After all, he'd had this conversation with Henry, and Henry had raised that same question "why?" Why did it matter to him so much? He'd thought long and hard on the subject, never really coming to any answers about it. 

Yet there's a moment, standing there on the porch with his back to Beaver, and hearing Beaver behind him talking about his feelings, his intentions, for Dovie, that Pete almost thinks he knows - because the lines that bright right then - that he could know if he just reached out and grabbed it. But he doesn't, because ultimately, Pete doesn't think he actually wants to know why. Instead, he pushes it away, and turns himself around to face his friend.

"God, that's so fucking romantic, Beaver," Pete says softly, but even so it's hard to mistake the mocking in his tone. But the next is asked without any ridicule, just sincere interest. "Are you in love with her?" 

Beaver stares at Pete, unbelieving for a few quiet moments. His eyes are locked with Pete's and fuck... those eyes. Yeah, he knows those eyes and he knows those were really the ones he could never say no to. He doesn't even know if it'd be possible if he could lie to Pete. Not when he's face to face with him, not like that. And all he can do is shake his head, shrugging his shoulders. 

"I don't know, man." And he knows why he doesn't know, if that makes any sense. It does to Beaver, because if he lets himself fall in love with Dovie, then it's sweet fuckin good-bye to Pete the Best Friend and hel-fucking-lo to Pete the Big Brother. Beaver knows inside that he'd give up anything to keep his best friend. And somewhere, if he were to look fuckin hard enough, he'd know that what he's doing is wrong, because you can't fuckin substitute what you want for something you can have. It's never turned out right before and it ain't gonna turn out right today. 

Beaver's forgotten about his cigarette, and it's almost burnt to the filter, the ash a good two inches long. 

"What do you want me to do, Pete?" Beaver's tone is even, but he's no longer looking at Pete's face. Instead, he stares at the younger boy's shoes, frowning and eyes stinging. "You want me to call things off with her? You want me to fuckin tell her I ain't interested in seeing her no more because you don't fuckin like it? Yeah, Pete. That's being a real friend. True-fuckin-blue."

Pete closes his eyes, has his hand half covering his mouth, and his head tilted back. He can hear the sigh escape his lips before he actually realizes he's doing it. There is no defense to give Beaver, no reason that would hold any semblance of becoming an excuse for what he's said or done that night. Pete slides his hand off his mouth, curling his fingers into a fist, and tapping his jaw lightly with his knuckles in a faux punch. 

"I'm not asking you to do that," Pete says, his head turned to the side and his eyes staring somewhere down the horizon. But then what were you asking? Pete thinks. He shakes his head, unable to answer his own question, and it takes him a moment to continue. "I'm saying... I'm saying don't you dare hurt her, and don't try pulling any shit or I'll - I'll have to fuck you up pretty bad I suppose." 

Pete tries to smile then, but it doesn't quite work. Instead, he just wets his lips and rubs his brow. "Look, I'm sorry," his voice is shaking slightly when he says it. "I know I've been a real fuckarow tonight, but.. You're my best friend, and Dovie's my sister. And it's not easy for me to see the two of you together. It's kind of..." Pete falters for a moment, looking for the right word, and in the end he chooses, "gross" because it's probably the most expected for a brother to say, and every other word Pete thinks of ends up making him sound jealous. And well, that certainly can't be the case.

Beaver may not be the smartest brick on the block, but he sure as hell can tell when someone's trying to force being nice. And that's when Beaver knows that he's worn out his welcome. Squeezing the cherry out of his cigarette and rubbing it into the grass, Beaver puts the butt into his jacket pocket, patting it down. He looks up at Pete, still not really able to make himself smile, but he tries anyway. 

"Don't apologize, man. She's your sister and I understand that you're feelin the way you do." And if that didn't sound forced and fake, Beaver would drink a gallon of his own piss. But he supposes Pete doesn't catch it, because he doesn't say anything right away. And that's just as well, because Beaver doesn't know what else more there is to say. He doesn't have any plans of hurting Dovie, but he can't tell Pete that. Hell, he's starting to regret ever asking her out. 

It was fucked up -- he knew it was from the very beginning. He knew that every fucking time he'd look at her, Beaver would see him. Any idiot could figure out that seeing your best friend when you were kissing your girlfriend wasn't supposed to happen. Beaver figured it was because he'd known Pete for a fucking lifetime. He didn't want to think about the fact that he'd spent several years kissing Pete here and there. That didn't matter because Pete knew they were just playing. Right? Of course. And it didn't mean a flying shit to Beaver, because hell, best friends do silly shit like that all the time. 

Fuck. He should just go. Because now he can't stop thinking of that stupid shit that doesn't mean a god damned thing... and there's Pete, standing there, fists clenched, ready to plant one right in Beaver's jaw. He sighs, slipping a hand into his pocket as he speaks quietly. 

"I should be headin home. I've got class first thing and it's late as shit." He frowns, looking down, again, at Pete's shoes as he backs away.

And whether Pete runs or just walks quickly, he doesn't quite remember except that suddenly he's only a step behind the Beaver, and grabbing his arm. There's desperation in his face, he knows that, it makes his cheeks burn like the red of blush, and he can feel the clamminess of his palms as he slides his fingers around Beaver's wrist. 

"Wait," Pete says, or is it wait? He isn't quite sure. It comes out half croaked and his entire mouth feels dry, right down to the back of his throat. "Beaver, I don't want things to be weird between us because of Dovie, and God, I know, I've been the one making it shitty." He's breathing hard, sick to his stomach, heart pounding so fiercely in his chest that he's sure anyone can see it, and Pete's just staring dumbly at Beaver's mouth. The one that's kissed him more than once, and hell, Pete knows that's kids stuff and those days are probably over. 

But if that's the end then… "One for the road, right?" Pete says, and he doesn't look up when he says it. He just kisses Beaver softly on the lips, nothing fancy, just brief enough so their mouths are pressed together and when they part, it makes that quiet whisper of a noise that almost sounds wet. It's there one moment and gone the next, and Pete's blinking up at Beaver, wide eyed, trying to ignore what he's done. He can hear the sharp hiss of his exhales in the silence of the night and he steps back, licking his lips, hoping maybe that somehow Beaver didn't notice. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says, casual as can be.

Beaver stands there, still as a fucking stock and just as dumb. He blinks a few times, and his whole face is burning when the realization of what's just happened comes to turn. His eyes still burn, but only just a little, and he wonders if he has any control over his actions, because he seems rooted to the spot, unable to move. 

But -- oh, he's wrong, because he can move, and he's suddenly taking a step toward Pete, both hands gathering about on either side of the younger boy's face, leaning down to kiss him. This one's harder than Pete's kiss, and there's more than just a hint of desperation behind it, and later, Beaver will wonder when the exact moment was he started to lose control. But none of that matters now, because that is later and later isn't now and now is this moment and he's kissing Pete, lips moving slightly before he pulls away, breath lingering for just a hair-lined moment before he drops his hands. He opens his eyes and fuck, there's those large eyes looking back at him. Those eyes he could never lie to, that could see right through him whether Pete realized it or not. 

"Yeah," he replies, voice hoarse and bit rough. "I'll see you tomorrow." And he's taking a step back, don't look away, another step back, I have to look away, turning around, why is it so fucking hard? And he's walking down the lawn, hands stuffed in his pocket, and the taste of Pete's kiss just a memory on his lips.

~fin  



End file.
